


Only Fools (And Freelancers) Rush In

by foxtrot77



Series: Tales from a Cold and Lonely Planet [7]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-typical language, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtrot77/pseuds/foxtrot77
Summary: Vera tries to give Sherry a message, only to have her attempts foiled at every turn.





	Only Fools (And Freelancers) Rush In

_Like a river flows surely to the sea_

_Darling so it goes_

_Some things were meant to be_

_So take my hand, and take my whole life too_

_Cause I can’t help falling in love with you_

“Can’t Help Falling in Love”

(Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore, George David Weiss)

 

She tries writing it in the sand first.

Using her bare feet, Vera shuffles up and down the beach, biting her lower lip in concentration as she digs the words into the white sand. The wind whips her hair into her face, and several times she has to stop to spit out the curly pink strands before moving on. By the time she’s finished, the sun is just above the horizon. She started at dawn, so no one would catch her.

Vera steps back to inspect her work. She left her sunglasses in the house, so she has to hold her hand over her eyes to keep the light out of them—it feels like she’s saluting the sun.

Holy shit, this is going to be amazing.

Her heart skips a beat and she kinda feels like throwing up. And yet she still feels giddy, like a little kid waking up on their birthday, ecstatic with anticipation and expectations of the day ahead. Vera regards the message once more. With a shaky grin, she puts her hands on her hips and swivels around to make the trek back to her house.

_Whoosh._

Vera stops dead. She closes her eyes as the telltale sound of water crawling up sand and retreating hits her ears, and her heart sinks. In this moment, a goddamn funeral dirge would be more pleasant to listen to.

Slowly, painfully, Vera turns around to see what the damage is.

The letters are gone, save for a few faint outlines. Vera groans. She was so sure she wrote her message far enough away from the ocean.

Apparently not.

#

She tries writing it on the fogged-up mirror next.

Sherry is humming along to the music blasting in the bathroom. Vera can hardly hear herself think, so she’s pretty sure Sherry can’t hear her open the door. Vera tiptoes in and, careful not to let her finger squeak against the glass, traces the words on the mirror.

Vera doesn’t have time to admire her work. The shower stops running and Sherry’s arm appears, pulling a towel from the rack next to the tub. Vera takes off for the bedroom, leaps into bed, and waits, heart pounding so hard she’s sure she’s dying.

After what feels like five years, it happens.

There’s a scream followed by a crash, and Vera shoots up and sprints to the bathroom. Is it really that bad? Or is Sherry just really excited?

Skidding to a halt just outside the door, Vera finds Sherry, clad in nothing but her towel, glaring wild-eyed at the mirror. Vera turns to look at the mirror, only to find it’s not there anymore. At least, not intact. It’s been shattered, probably by the shampoo bottle that’s exploded everywhere.

“Wha—What happened?” Vera asks, whipping her head back to look at Sherry.

“There was—” Sherry pauses to catch her breath. “There was a fucking spider!”

Relief washes over Vera ( _it wasn’t the message she hasn’t seen it yet thank_ God) followed by the soul-crushing pain of defeat.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Mike,” Vera grumbles before she leaves to grab a broom.

Next time. Next time, for sure.

#

Writing it out with alphabet-shaped cereal is a bust as well. Someone _really_ fucked up, because the only letter in the box is ‘A’.

Vera sits at the table, propping her head up with her arm as she spells out ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAA’ on the table. It’s the sound she’d like to make, if Sherry wasn’t in the next room, still reeling from the Spider Mishap.

Exasperated, she takes her arm and sweeps the A’s into her empty bowl.

“Come on Ohio,” she whispers to herself. “Do not fuck this up, you can _not_ fuck this up.”

“Fuck what up?” Sherry says, entering the kitchen.

Vera whirls around in her chair, breath catching in her chest as it starts to tip back. She grabs the tablecloth, which starts sliding along with her. Sherry’s eyes widen, and she tenses, preparing to spring forward to steady the chair. Unfortunately, Sherry is not fast enough, and Vera is notoriously unlucky. Sherry grabs at empty air as Vera goes down, landing in a tangle of limbs, chair legs, and tablecloth.

Her face hot, Vera scrambles to get out from under the tablecloth. She feels like a turtle caught on its back, and she think maybe death would be better than this—you can’t be embarrassed if you’re dead.

Next thing Vera knows, the tablecloth is ripped away from her, the chair scooted to the side. Heaving a sigh, Vera leans her head back against the linoleum and stares at the ceiling. Has the ceiling always been yellow?

Sherry’s face pops into view, upside down from Vera’s point of view. She’s kneeling just behind Vera’s head, brows knitted together, biting her lip.

Wow. She looks cute when she’s worried.

Vera’s starting to think she hit her head on the way to the floor.

“Hey, you okay, sweet cheeks?” Sherry asks.

“’M fine!” Vera assures her, grinning up at Sherry. “Just peachy!”

She giggles. Peachy. When the fuck did she start using the word _peachy_?

It weirds Sherry out too, because she frowns and leans in a little closer.

“You sure you’re okay? You fell pretty hard.”

“I—I did fall hard,” Vera agrees. Her heart is practically bursting through her ribcage.

Vera’s smile fades, and she reaches up and brushes Sherry’s lips with her fingers. Sherry catches her hand and laces her fingers through hers.

“I did fall,” Vera says. “In love with you.”

Sherry’s face splits into a grin.

“Sap,” she laughs.

“Ready for something even sappier?” Vera asks, smiling back.

“Even sappier than falling on accident and using it as an excuse to tell me you love me?” Sherry replies.

“Psh, how do _you_ know it was an accident?” Vera scoffs.

“No one would willingly subject themselves to that much embarrassment,” Sherry snorts, rolling her eyes.

They’re getting off topic. Vera pulls her hand away from Sherry’s and, taking both hands, places them on each side of Sherry’s face.

“Listen,” Vera says.

Sherry, looking slightly confused by the hands holding her face, doesn’t say anything.

“It was an accident, falling,” Vera admits. “But you know what else was an accident? Mike shooting Darryl in the foot, me crashing the Warthog into your hangar, holding your hand at the bar—none of these things were intentional but, like, they happened and it’s—god. I wouldn’t take any of the gunfights, explosions, or bad karaoke back. None of it.

“Getting left for dead on that frozen-ass wasteland was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Vera continues. “Well, second best. _The_ best being meeting you. Obviously.”

Sherry goes very still. She doesn’t say anything, but Vera knows she’s amazing at reading body language, like, super amazing, so if she doesn’t get a move on it won’t be a surprise.

“What I’m _trying_ to say is—look, what I’m trying to say is you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I kinda want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Sherry’s eyes go wide, and she blinks once. Twice.

“Sherry, will you marry me?” Vera asks.

Sherry closes her eyes. Vera holds her breath, waiting, looks at everything—the table, the chairs, her arms—she looks at everything but Sherry’s face.

Something wet hits her face, and Vera, startled, looks up.

Sherry’s… crying. Great, she made Sherry cry. Just fantastic. Meanwhile, Sherry hasn’t spoken for a whole minute. Vera is going to die alone, she’s going to—

“Yes.”

“What?”

Sherry laughs, leans down and kisses Vera. She smells like vanilla, and Vera reaches up and runs her fingers through Sherry’s hair, still a little damp from her shower. And fuck if she’s not crying too, now.

When Sherry pulls away, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yes,” she repeats.

Who needs drugs to get high when that one word is all Vera needs to be over the fucking moon? Vera sits up and throws her arms around Sherry, and for a few minutes they just sit there, enjoying each other’s company. They could be the only living beings in the entire universe, but that wouldn’t matter.

Because they have each other.

As long as Vera doesn't shoot Sherry in the foot again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So concludes the tale of Ohio and Sherry (this one anyway). Thank you for reading! Concrit always welcome. Happy New Year!


End file.
